


The Pardon

by fiftysevenacademics (rapiddescent)



Category: Richard II - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: Dom/sub, Extremely Dubious Consent, Humiliation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-17 23:31:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2327159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rapiddescent/pseuds/fiftysevenacademics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aumerle has come to plead for a pardon from Henry and discovers he'll have to earn it whether he wants to or not. Just when he thinks things can't get any worse, they do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pardon

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the 2013-14 RSC production of Richard II.

Aumerle's green robe is damp and dusted with a light spatter of mud. He throws it onto the saddle as he runs from the horse, safely in the groom's hands, and now his boots are smeared with mud, too. He left his parents hurriedly, with no thought for the weather, and was caught unprepared when it started to drizzle again about ten minutes before he reached Henry's castle. Shaking a mist of water off his hair, he bangs on the massive wooden doors until they open and a page attempts to usher him in. 

He rushes past the man, and past Harry Percy and several other lords, shouting, "Where is the king!"

Henry turns abruptly from Percy.

"What's the matter, cousin, that you storm in here like a lunatic?" 

"God save your grace! I beg a moment to speak with you alone."

Aumerle can't tell if Henry looks amused or angry, but he turns to the others in the room.

"Leave us here alone." Percy and the lords leave.

Aumerle throws his body to the floor and launches himself at Henry's feet. Looking up to find Henry's face, he seizes the king's hand and kisses the back fervently.

"May my knees grow into the earth and my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth if you don't pardon me before I rise or speak again."

Henry withdraws his hand, but does not invite Aumerle to rise. He takes a couple of steps away and circles his cousin, crouched on all fours with his rear raised and forehead nearly touching the floor. Aumerle knows Henry is looking at him from every angle, but does not dare look up. Fear glues him in place. Henry takes his time and Aumerle's stomach turns when he imagines that Henry must be picturing him in a similar position with Richard, imagining what they must have done. He is grateful that he has not been bidden to look at the king. The flagstones cool his burning face, reminding him that Richard also has nothing but cold stones for comfort in his cell at Pomfret, and tears sting the back of his eyelids before he blinks them away. 

"Is this something you intended or committed?"

"Intended, but not committed."

Henry finally stops. Out of the corner of his eye, Aumerle sees boots somewhere between his shoulder and jaw. One foot shifts and Aumerle flinches, then cringes inwardly with embarrassment over his instinctive reaction.

"What did you intend to do, cousin, that you did not do?"

Aumerle lifts himself up to his knees and hobbles a little to the left so he is facing Henry again, and clasps his hands as if for prayer.

"Your grace I--"

"You forget yourself. I didn't command you to rise, cousin."

Aumerle collapses back into position on the floor, his rear even higher than before and his lips all but kissing the stone, his blood a cocktail of fear, grief, and anger. Henry moves to Aumerle's side. He can no longer see Henry's boot, but hears where sole comes to rest, making him aware of how fragile his ribs are.

"Your Grace, what I did, I did for love of a king, and what I did not, was also for the love of a king."

The words sound flat and small against the flagstones, as if spoken by someone far away. Or spoken _for_ someone far away, someone who should, by right, be the one in Henry's room but languishes instead chained to a dungeon floor half a lifetime from here. He swallows a sob.

"You talk in circles, cousin." Aumerle hears Henry's boots tap, then appear before his eyes, and one of them presses his face like a beetle against the stones roughly enough to hear a soft thump. It hurts, but Aumerle winces more from shock than pain. "There is only one king in England, is that right?"

Aumerle tries to answer, but can only make helpless mumbling sounds against the floor, and crumbs of dirt cling to his lips as he moves them. Rough leather hooks his chin and lifts his head, forcing him to rise slightly onto all fours and look up, until Henry has guided him to his knees with his boot.

"You speak of love for a king, cousin. I wonder what you have done for the love of a king. I wonder what you would do to restore the love of one." 

Aumerle tries to turn his head away but Henry catches his chin in his palm and directs it back, so he cannot avoid seeing mockery and disgust written on Henry's face. Still holding Aumerle's chin, Henry steps forward, till his thighs nearly touch his face. This can't be happening. He has come to plead for a pardon, and now it looks as if he will have to earn it. Henry is already unlacing an opening in his hose, and he closes his eyes. Hot, soft skin unfolds against his cheek.

"Why are you closing your eyes? You've never seen another man's cock before? I find that hard to believe." 

Aumerle does as Henry wishes and opens his eyes. Henry chuckles just a little as he holds Aumerle's chin and brushes his stiffening cock against his lips. Aumerle feels dizzy, as if his head has turned to air and his lungs to stone as he opens his mouth and lets it enter.

"Of _course_ you know what to do." Henry says, his voice husky, the fingers of one hand slithering through Aumerle's hair and clutching a fistful. "You've had a lot of practice."

Henry doesn't move at first. Aumerle holds his cock near the base and gently works the rest of it with his mouth until it is fully hard, and then sucks it vigorously. Some primitive part of him, perhaps unleashed by fear or grief, responds and his own cock stirs against his will. He rubs it over his hose. Henry grabs another clump of hair, immobilizing his head, and thrusts hard enough that he reaches the back of Aumerle's throat, but he doesn't stop long enough to even let him gag. Aumerle struggles for breath. His eyes water and his nose is beginning to run as Henry uses his mouth roughly and finally comes just as Aumerle is gasping for a breath. He chokes on the semen, sputtering it all over his lips.

Henry's cock falls out of Aumerle's mouth and he puts it back in his hose. While he fiddles with his laces, Aumerle wipes his mouth with his shirtsleeve. 

"Very well, cousin. Whatever it is you did not do, no matter how treasonous, you shall have my pardon and my love."

Any hope he may have had of somehow helping Richard to freedom has vanished. He has paid for his own life with a death warrant for Richard, traded the love of one king for submission to another. The certainty grows like a foul crystal inside him that he will never see Richard alive again, and yet the savage thing wishes Henry would touch his cock. He shakes, almost uncontrollably, and feels sick when he hears pounding at the door and the sound of his father's voice.


End file.
